


One Hundred Ways to View the World

by Siriusfan13



Category: Sorcerer's Apprentice (2010)
Genre: Balthy 100 Challenge, F/M, introspective pieces
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:35:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25644409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siriusfan13/pseuds/Siriusfan13
Summary: My entry for the Balthy100. A collection of short stories about the betrayal, search, training, and aftermath. Not necessarily in order, but what important things really are? I'd love it if you read and review. I'll understand if you don't. Enjoy.
Relationships: Balthazar Blake/Veronica Gorloisen, Becky Barnes/Dave Stutler
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	1. Arcana Cabana

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing from "Sorcerer's Apprentice", be in the "Fantasia" short, the live-action movie, or the novelization. I don't even own the idea behind this one hundred word set. You can blame it on the Balthy 100 (check out the discussion board, "Sorcerer's Lair" to learn more).

**One Hundred Ways to View the World**

**Part I: Arcana Cabana**

It was his last resort. He was old. Tired. And quite frankly sick of traveling the world. It had finally occurred to him that he would never be able to actually hunt down the Prime Merlinian. He had assumed _that_ was the answer, and had been in such a rush to find the boy, whoever he was, so he could release Veronica, that he never had realized the obvious.

He was hunting through millions of people for one. And each time he moved, the people in the last place he'd been in changed, requiring him to return and search them again. It was a neverending cycle. One that he couldn't possibly break. If he'd kept that up, he'd never make it out of England, let alone Europe. Still... that was his only plan for centuries.

How had it taken a man known for his sharp intelligence so long to realize what he had to do?

When he had been a boy, Merlin had not sought him out. There had been a pull. The magic within had been drawn to the power of the much older sorcerer. Merlin had never looked for apprentices. They had just _come_ to him. Or he was drawn to them, by some random "coincidence". Why would the Prime Merlinian be any different? Why should Balthazar waste another hundred lifetimes searching for someone who should, by all rights, be drawn to the ring?

And so Balthazar had chosen a land in which to rest. Europe was too painful. Asia, to foreign. Africa, too hot. But America was diverse. Perhaps not the most likely place to find an all-powerful sorcerer, but it would do. After all, the first time he'd scoured the place, he'd managed to capture a rather powerful witch. Obviously there was _some_ magic in this new world.

He chose Manhattan to be close to Ellis Island where people entered the country. He hadn't realized that in the many years that had passed since his last visit here in the 1920s, so much had changed. The island was no longer the only way in. He could have chosen anywhere, then. He stuck with New York. He was sick of traveling. This would work.

When he had chosen his place to live, he'd made sure it had room for a shop. He needed money, and, unlike Morganians, he refused to use his powers to pay for things. He'd have a real job. He'd had some for short spans of time in the past. A professor once in England. A peddler in South America. Recently he'd been teaching English to students in China. He could make himself credentials when needed. He hated faking things, but if he wanted to earn a relatively honest living with a real job, there were some things he had to have. A college education to teach history, since living it was not something he could reasonably put on an application. A passport to move between countries easily. Apparently in America, he now needed a social security number. As long as they were minor things to fabricate, he could accept that.

But those old jobs had all been intended to expose him to as many people as possible. Now it was a different plan. Keep out of the way. Earn enough money to live, so he didn't have to use the money that he'd been saving in various bank accounts to build a life with Veronica. He would wait for the boy to come to him.

The shop he'd chosen was an old, narrow building on a small, moderately populated street. He'd filled it with trinkets he'd picked up in his travels. Whenever he'd run low, he'd take a short trip somewhere to pick up a few more things. There were people who owed him favors. Relics he'd found years ago. Gifts he didn't want to keep. There were plenty of unusual things in the world that he could sell at a reasonably high price to people who were, themselves, so eccentric that they would consider _him_ of all people relatively normal. He made enough money to pay for the place and to survive.

He'd begun renting the place back in 1960. After forty years living in the same spot, modifying his physical appearance to look older until his "nephew" took over and he could look his own age again, he'd almost given up hope. His plan wasn't working. The Arcana Cabana was becoming an excuse not to hunt anymore. He knew he'd have to leave soon before he simply gave up. Before he gave in to the fact that he was very old and very tired. And that he should have been dead and forgotten a very long time ago.

So, when the year 2000 rolled around, he had begun packing up shop, not even bothering to keep the place up anymore as he waited out the end of the lease. He was in his last month renting the place before he moved on when the impossible happened. He heard the door creak open and watched a young boy enter his shop. Nothing remarkable there. Just an irritating child who was going to break everything. He didn't really care. He wasn't trying very hard to sell things anymore, anyway. Best to just let the kid poke at things and hope he left quickly.

He'd given up testing a few months back when he'd begun making preparations to leave. So, he ignored this boy now. Until the kid almost knocked over an urn. The only bloody thing in the entire store that could actually hurt someone. Damn coincidence.

Balthazar moved quickly, catching the thing just before it toppled. Saving the boy ten years of suffering without the kid ever knowing. Scolding the boy with the urn's story. Hoping to scare him away, so he could get back to his own business.

Internally cursing the damn coincidence that the day he'd begun packing his things was the day this kid had to come in and mess around.

Coincidence. He should have known at that moment. Balthazar had never believed in coincidence. Those things called "coincidence" were generally fate in disguise. In fact, he was banking on the fact that the Prime Merlinian would show up "coincidentally" when the ring drew him.

Coincidence. Like this child entering his store because a note flew in a mail slot.

Coincidence. Like the boy toppling the only thing that Balthazar would bother coming out to save.

Coincidence...

He turned, looking the boy over again. Nothing remarkable about him. Nothing impressive like the other boys he had tested. Nothing special. Not on the outside at least.

He stared at the child for a moment, thinking back. Just as there had been nothing special about the peasant boy who had been drawn to Merlin all those years ago. When they'd met by _coincidence_ when the old man's horse had gone lame at their farm.

 _Nothing_ was ever a coincidence.

Was it possible...?

He smiled for the first time in so long, and finally said gently to the child he'd tried to scare away only moments before, "Come with me. I have something I'd like to show you..."


	2. Trousers

**One Hundred Ways to View the World**

**Part II:** **Trousers**

Balthazar hated mending by firelight. Hated the way his ring reflected the flames. Hated everything about it.

Most of all, he hated the memories it brought. Oh, but everything brought him memories these days. That's all his life really was anymore. One passionate goal and an infinite number of painful memories. On nights like these, when the fire burned brightly, he couldn't shut them out.

.^.^.^.^.^.

Years back, when Merlin had taught them magic, the old sorcerer had also taught them basic skills. Skills that ordinary people learned. How to raise animals, garden, cook, clean... any number of things that they were not allowed to use magic on. Because a true sorcerer wasn't lazy. And a real man could work the land. The stronger the man, the stronger the sorcerer. That was always Merlin's motto. Of course, he primarily meant "strong at heart", but he'd made it clear that muscles helped in life's little trials.

Veronica, however, had been... different. Merlin had trained men before them, of course. He was far older than they were, but though he'd had a few apprentices in the past, they apparently weren't worth mentioning. They had never been as impressive as Horvath and Balthazar. There had always been a flaw, and they had always parted ways. These two, however were steadfast and loyal. They always had been. He'd had no need of anyone else.

Then the girl had come to them. They'd taken her for some ragamuffin at first. She'd been filthy, painfully thin. Terribly weak. Her tattered clothes were barely recognizable from mud and varying other filth. She'd arrived exhausted, and had curled up in the stables to sleep.

Balthazar had found her the next morning when he'd gone out to prepare Merlin's horse for a ride. He'd stepped inside and in one of the empty pens, he'd spotted her. He hadn't known what to do, and had stood foolishly staring at her for several long moments until she finally must have felt his eyes upon her, and she awoke.

She hadn't spoken a word, her eyes watching him carefully. He'd wanted to help, and so he'd approached her. Asked her name. She'd simply stared, her eyes wide with terror. He'd offered his own name, reaching to her with the intent to help her up. She'd pulled away, leaping to her feet and pressing her back to the wall, looking very much like a cornered animal.

He could feel her terror. It was a tangible presence, and Balthazar had always been far too sensitive to people's emotions. Her fear was enough to almost make him ill.

He was saved by Horvath's entrance to the stable, demanding Balthazar hurry up already, as Merlin was nearly ready for the ride into town. He'd frozen at the sight of the girl. Had run his eyes over her pitiful frame, snorted derisively, and suggested they put the waif back out where she belonged before she stole something from their pantry.

That had set them to arguing, as usual. They were like brothers, those two. And they certainly fought like it.

She'd tried to run in their distraction, but Balthazar was always alert to his surroundings, even when distracted. She was fast, but he was quicker and he easily caught her. She was stronger than she looked and managed to get a few good hits in before he'd pinned her. Ironic that _he_ rather than Horvath was her captor. He, who felt some strange need to protect her.

They'd brought her before Merlin, and eventually the story had come out.

She was the daughter of some noble. Who her family was, they'd never learned, even in their later years. It hadn't mattered. Her family was dead. She'd run away when she'd realized that she was different from them. At the time, those differences had been small things: the ability to speak languages she'd never heard before, for example. Not so extreme that it was particularly frightening. But enough that she was forced to hide it from everyone. So, tired of pretending to be something she wasn't, she had run. Her parents had gone after her. God forbid someone find her and realize that she was "different". She hadn't made it far when they'd found her and had forced her to return home. They never made it home. They had been outnumbered by the bandits. All murdered, then burned. She had been spared, if that's what it could be called, spending months as a captive before she'd finally managed to escape. Balthazar had never asked what they'd put her through, but he'd known. It had taken ages for her to speak to anyone other than Merlin. She'd avoided the two boys as though they'd carried the plague.

She was most terrified of Balthazar. He was too friendly. To concerned. In her mind, that was dangerous. _He_ was dangerous. She'd wanted nothing to do with that one. She didn't want to know why he seemed so interested in her. His actions frightened her, and her fear confused him, drawing out his desire to help. A desire that succeeded in nothing more than pushing her further away. It was a vicious cycle that neither seemed able to break.

Horvath, she'd warmed up to first, mostly due to his indifference. What did he care about the little orphan girl? He rarely spoke to her, unless he had to. He looked at her as something occasionally useful. A servant girl. Wash the dishes, clean the floors, mend things. That was all she was good for in his eyes. He hated the chores. So did she, but she was grateful he only expected that from her.

Even Merlin hadn't appeared to realize what she was. He allowed her to stay, so she could heal, learn to trust again. He'd had every intention of sending her down to the village, helping find her a safe home when she was ready. None of them had expected that she'd change Merlin's plans.

It had actually been Balthazar's fault. A last, desperate move to try to earn her friendship. He'd cornered her in the kitchen one evening when they were alone. Merlin and Horvath had not yet returned from a day trip to town. He'd taken advantage of their time alone, slipping into the room where she'd sat mending a cloak. He'd sat beside her at the table, as she tried her best to ignore him, her hands shaking slightly. Her stitches growing sloppy. Her lips forming a tight line as she realized that she'd have to tear them out because of him.

His right hand rested gently on the table where she could see it. A pale green ring flashed on his finger. She knew what the ring meant, and she'd done her best to ignore it. Magicians. Sorcerers, they'd called themselves. Mother would have had a fit. Evil she would have called it. Never mind that this batch seemed harmless enough. They used magic and so they were evil.

Veronica wasn't so sure anymore. She'd seen evil, and no magic had been necessary.

The ring was lovely, though. It beckoned to her, and she found her eyes drawn to it. Gaudy on the hands of this lanky, awkward boy. But still, attractive in its own way. And oddly, it suited him. It seemed as though it belonged on his hand.

He noticed her watching, and tried to make eye contact. "Would you like to hold it?" he asked, softly.

Her eyes shot up to his face. The first time she'd ever made eye contact. His eyes were a pale blue-grey like the sky before a storm. They were too intense for a boy his age. She found that it was almost harder to resist his eyes than it had been to tear her focus from the ring.

"I thought you weren't supposed to take it off," she whispered. "Isn't it important? Horvath won't even let me look at his."

She'd spoken to him. Finally. He couldn't help but smile, deciding that this plan was definitely worth the risk. "I'm not. But it can't hurt only for a moment. I thought you might like to see it. That's all." And he did the unthinkable. He slipped it off of his finger, and placed into her outstretched hand all the power he had in the world.

She'd thought he was handing her some sign of his sorcery. She'd never dreamed at the time that he was handing over to her his ability to control his very essence... just to earn her trust.

And he'd never dreamed that when she'd slipped it on, examining its glow in the firelight, that her thrill of its strange internal light would cause the fire to leap from the fireplace in a roar, setting a tapestry on fire. He'd leapt up, waving his hand to put it out.

Nothing. He'd forgotten. She was still wearing the ring.

"Give it to me," he'd demanded, panicking.

Her eyes were wide and terrified. "Put it out!"

"I need the ring!" He reached for her, but she tore from his grip, retreating. Fire terrified her, ever since the night she'd been taken...

"Veronica, I need it. I can't—" He didn't finish, the fire was getting worse, spreading to another tapestry, and creeping toward the next. They were choking on the smoke, and he could no longer see where she was. He'd been forced to move. Tearing one of the tapestries from the wall, he'd thrown it over the fire that was spreading to some thrush on the floor, smothering it before that, too, could spread. Racing to the window, he threw the shutters open to help clear some of the smoke. But he didn't know what else to do. He was usually a clear thinker, but it had been a long time since he'd been unarmed like this.

He had to find the cleaning bucket. _Anything_ that contained water. By sheer luck in his search, he stumbled over Veronica, who was against the wall. "I need the ring," he'd said urgently.

"No, we need water!" she snapped, having clearly overcome fear as her practical streak finally took control.

"Fine. Where is it?" He wasn't familiar with the kitchen. That had been her domain.

"Behind us somewhere. I can't see." She looked around, frustrated. "I tried to find it."

"Then, I _really_ need the ring." No time to explain. No more time to be courteous. He'd taken her hand and pulled the ring from her. Thankfully it had been to large for her finger, and it came right off. Slipping it back onto his own finger, he'd turned to the flaming tapestries. "Behind us?" he'd asked again. "Can you find it? I need a better idea of _where_."

She didn't answer, scrambling back, coughing on smoke, feeling across the wall. Searching again. Stumbling over a bucket. Water sloshed over her feet. " _Here!"_ she'd shouted over the crackle of flames that were now licking at the wooden supports. This could fast become deadly. "Back here!"

She was invisible in the smoke, but he could guess just about where she was. It would have to be good enough. He _hoped_ it would be. Raising his hands and hoping to god he had enough skill to channel the magic to his hands rather than directly through his ring, he forced the water that he knew was _somewhere_ behind him toward the flames. He had minimal control, given that normally he had to point his ring at the object, but he managed to find the bucket, increase its contents, until it was a torrent of water soaking them, but also dousing the fire, leaving only smoke and charred remains. One last effort, and Balthazar managed to force the smoke out the window leaving the air mostly clear.

He collapsed to the floor, head resting against the cool, wet stone. Veronica came up beside him, soaked, if it were possible, worse than he was. She dropped to her knees beside him, also breathing hard. A touch of fear still in her eyes. "Are you okay?" she'd asked, beating him to the question.

He nodded. "Yes. You?"

A short nod. Then, it was as though all of the fear and frustration and action had broken through some barrier, and she began to laugh.

He stared at her as though she were insane. "Veronica?"

"You should see what you look like," she burst out.

A small smile twitched at his lips. "No worse than you, I'd wager." Her laughter was contagious.

They'd both laughed until they were too tired to laugh anymore. Until the fear had washed out, and was replaced by exhaustion.

Until Balthazar was reminded that he would have to try to fix what he could before Merlin returned and greatly shortened his lifespan upon seeing the kitchen.

"Balthazar?" Her voice was somber now as well. Thoughtful. "Why did you wait to magic it?"

He stared blankly at her. "Wait?"

"Yes." Her expression was earnest. "Why didn't you put out the fire before it got so bad? With your magic?"

And he realized. "I couldn't. Didn't you know?"

She blinked at him. "Know what?"

He closed his eyes and again leaned his head back against the cold stone wall. "Our power is channelled through the ring. Without it, I'm powerless. I couldn't do anything while you were wearing it."

He couldn't see her expression, but he could hear the quiet surprise in her voice. "You let me hold your power?"

"I thought maybe you'd trust me if I trusted you." He was dead tired, and his voice was soft now. "I thought you knew. It was stupid of me. I should have told you."

"So you let me use your power, then?" she repeated. Her voice was hushed as well.

He shook his head. "No. No, it only channels the power. I still had my ability. I just couldn't access it. It's hard to explain. We're each given a ring that's meant just for us. Other sorcerers can use it, but it's not nearly as effective as their own. And you can only use the ring if—" His eyes flew open, and he sat up sharply, startling her. "Have you ever held one of those before?"

She shook her head, eyes wide. "Never. Why?"

"You're the one who started the fire, Veronica." At her outraged expression, he quickly amended that. "Not on purpose. But you moved the ring toward the fireplace. When you were looking at the stone. And the flames shot out. You..." He shook his head. "I can't believe Merlin didn't check you. Though, nowadays I suppose female sorcerers are rare..."

"What are you saying? Are you implying that _I_ am like _you_?"

He smiled faintly, hauling himself to his feet. "No. No, you're nothing like me. But you can be. I'm sure you can be. I couldn't make my ring do anything, even on accident, for days when I first got it. And you... even though it wasn't even _yours..._ " He shook his head to clear it. "We need to talk to Merlin when he returns. We need to tell him about you." He looked around at the destruction of the kitchen. "But... we need to clean this first..."

"Magic?" she asked, hopefully.

He winced, remembering _that_ harsh lesson with his master. "Ah... no. It's easy to lose control of scrub brushes and such. We don't need me to cause a flood by cheating..."

She'd have sworn she heard him mutter under his breath, "Again..."

So, they'd scrubbed the place clean before Merlin had returned. The tapestries and partially burned wood, they'd left for him to fix, which he had done. _After_ he'd punished Balthazar as far as he was realistically able. Then he'd listened to their discovery. He'd listened to Veronica's defense of the boy. He'd listened to their defenses of each other. Then he'd punished her as well, and sent them off to bed. They'd need to rest up for how much work they'd earned for themselves... Enough to keep them more than busy for the next month. If they were lucky.

As they'd walked off, Balthazar could have sworn he'd caught a glimpse of the old man smiling, examining the ring that he'd inexplicably gone to town to purchase that day. The ring that Balthazar was certain he'd bequeath to Veronica.

Such a coincidence. The boy sighed as he left the kitchen. There was no such thing as coincidence.

Obviously, the old man had already known...

.^.^.^.^.^.

He tried unsuccessfully to force the memories from his mind.

He hated mending by firelight with a passion. Hated the way his ring reflected the flames as it had once in her shining eyes. Hated everything about it. It reminded him of what he'd had. And what he'd lost.

And it reminded him that it was his fault.

He sighed, taking a small break from mending the trousers, rubbing his hand over his eyes, tiredly.

Mostly, he hated the memories it brought. He closed his eyes. That wasn't true. He lived for the memories. That was all he had left, now. Memories of a brother who would never betray him. A master he'd loved like a father. Of a girl...

He couldn't take that thought, but the firelight always brought her back to him as though she haunted him.

Balthazar set the trousers aside for now. He couldn't take any of this anymore. He just needed to rest. Needed to clear his mind or he'd be useless in his search tomorrow. Mending could wait until daylight, when the fire was out and the hearth was cold.

He extinguished the fire with one abrupt motion. He would freeze tonight, but he didn't care. He just needed one night alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: So, I tend to use the word as motivation, and I make sure it is included, but I let the story go where it takes me. This is the second word of the Balthy 100 challenge. I hope it's acceptable in all its randomness.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Sirius


	3. Shoes

**One Hundred Ways to View the World**

**Part III:** **Shoes**

She lay quietly in a bed of blankets, wondering if it were a dream, them lying together as though their lives had only been separated by a few days rather than several centuries. Her head rested comfortably on his chest, and she could feel it rise and fall in a steady, comforting rhythm. She'd given him the pillow last night, when he'd finally begun drifting off to sleep. After the showdown with Morgana, his body had practically been torn apart, and there was only so much she could do for him. She was no healer by any means, and there was very little she'd managed to do for him last night besides keep his weakened heart regulated and start the mending process for his cracked ribs and collarbone. She'd see what more she could do when he woke up. But for now, he was in a deep sleep, and appeared to be in little pain. And she... she felt like she were in a dream.

When she'd first opened her eyes, she'd been confused about where she was. It had been dark and cold, and for a moment she'd thought it was the inside of the Grimhold. That somehow she'd woken up within it and none of the night before had happened. She remembered jerking awake, terrified. And then... a strong arm tightened around her, pulling her close. The scent of his leather coat, though removed, still clinging to his odd garments. The warmth of his body against hers. The scratch of his whiskers against her smooth skin. The sound of his heart beating solidly within his chest, where she now rested her head. It was real. _He_ was real. And everything, for the first time in so long, felt _right_.

All those years they'd spent fighting... She'd only wanted a normal life. She'd always assumed that he'd enjoyed it all. He was a brilliant sorcerer. And entirely dedicated to his task. It hadn't been until she'd learned of his long quest. Of his search for the Prime Merlinian. Of his constant devotion and love for her that had spanned over a thousand years, that she realized that he hadn't fought because he loved the battle. He was simply dedicated to anything that he felt strongly about. Be it love or duty. And their battle against Morgana had been a duty. He wouldn't back down. But that didn't mean it was the life he'd have chosen for himself. For either of them.

She'd never realized that he'd wanted a normal life as much as she. Not until he'd given her the necklace last night.

Now, she lay nestled against his still form, listening to him breathe deeply. It was morning, she knew. She had always been an early riser. They both had... But she knew that today he'd sleep for most of the day. His body needed time to recover. And she had a feeling that he'd been denying himself rest for the past few days since Horvath had gotten hold of the Grimhold.

She smiled. That was fine. She'd gladly rest with him for now.

That thought was interrupted by the loud slam of a metal door, and the clanging of someone coming down the stairs. _Horvath? No. Not now. Not when he can't even defend himself. Not when I finally have him back..._ Veronica tightened her grip on Balthazar, and held her breath until she heard a voice.

"Balthazar!" It was the boy. The Prime Merlinian. Her Balthazar's apprentice. She let out a sigh of relief. More importantly, it wasn't Horvath. She hadn't the energy for another fight. Neither of them had.

The boy continued talking as he clattered down the stairs. "I landed your eagle on the Chrysler building, but it wouldn't go back to normal. So, it's just sort of perched up there." He paused. "Well, it _was_ perched up there when I left. I told it to stay. Not sure how well it listens, though..." He paused again, longer this time. "Balthazar?" A note of worry in his voice. Lights began flicking on throughout the lab.

She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it. She had no idea what to say. She didn't know this boy. And she had no idea how to treat him. He was the Prime Merlinian. She felt like she should treat him with deep respect on that account alone. But her Balthazar... he spoke of the boy like an errant student. Or like a son. There was respect and a great deal of pride, but also indulgence. This was his apprentice, and Balthazar his master... _That_ would take some getting used to all on its own. Balthazar... no longer the apprentice...

She was spared the decision of what to say as the boy turned the corner and spotted them in the semi-darkness. There was a moment of stunned silence as he and Veronica stared at each other. Then his face turned a deep red, and he looked away. "Okay," he muttered. "That's just awkward." He raised his hands in submission, staring steadily at the floor in front of him. "I'm leaving. Sorry to interrupt. I'm just... yeah... Sorry..." He began backing up, and before she could even warn him, he tripped over a mop bucket behind him and fell backwards onto the stone floor, uttering a small curse as he landed hard on the ground.

"Are you all right?" she asked, worried, carefully unwrapping Balthazar's arm from around her, and easing herself up as gently as possible, so as not to wake him. When she was certain she could slip from his side with ease, she stood and walked over to the boy. "Are you—?"

He was already picking himself up, clearly embarrassed. "Yeah..." he muttered. "Nothing new. I've taken worse." He stood, brushing himself off. His eyes were still trained on the floor. "In fact, I've taken a lot worse from _him_." He finally glanced up at her. "Sorry. Really. I didn't mean to interrupt you guys."

She just stared at him, curiosity in her eyes as she finally studied the Prime Merlinian up close. Not what she'd expected, though really, who ever was? The man Balthazar had become certainly hadn't been what she'd expected when she'd first met him. But that was good. She wouldn't change what he was for the world. "You didn't interrupt anything. I was already awake." Her serious expression softened a touch. "And I'm sure he'll be sleeping for most of the day."

The boy snorted. "Yeah, right. He'll be up in an hour, yelling at me for being too 'high profile' in the park." He grinned, finally looking her in the eye. He stuck his hand out at her. "Dave, by the way. David Stutler."

She nodded, studying his hand for a moment before taking it. "I am called Veronica. Balthazar was telling me about you last night. You've made an impression on him."

His eyebrows raised as he glanced over to his sleeping mentor. "I did? Could have fooled me. He's usually too busy ridiculing me or making smart-ass comments to actually make me think..." His voice trailed off as he looked carefully at the older man. A moment of silence. "He's really out, isn't he?" His voice was tinged with a trace of worry now. "Is he okay?" He took a step past her. Then another, finally kneeling near his master.

She crouched beside him, leaning forward and brushing some loose hair from Balthazar's face. "He'll be fine. He just needs time to recover."

She glanced over at the boy. He swallowed hard, his eyes roving over the bruises now visible on Balthazar's pale face. The carefully cleaned scrapes and cuts that were visible. The blood-spotted bandages wrapping down his neck and under his black shirt, hinting and further injuries invisible to the eye. "He doesn't look so good." His brows furrowed together. "I left too soon, didn't I?" He turned to face her, his expression serious. "I took off without even making sure he was okay. He _died_ and as soon as I brought him back—as soon as he could move—I left him. What was I thinking?" He ran his hand over his face. "Horvath could have come back. Or his heart could have given out again..." He pounded his fist on the floor, angrily. "What was I _thinking_?" he growled softly. At the feel of his knuckles against cement, he winced, and rubbed at his hand.

She gently put her hand on his shoulder, responding quietly. "You saved his life, David. We got back here fine. He's still alive. That's more than either of us expected."

The boy looked back up at her, his expression strained.

She managed a small, reassuring smile. "He's going to be weak for a few days. And sore. But he'll be alive, because of what you did. Trust me, David. He doesn't blame you for leaving us." She smiled at his incredulous look. "We actually discussed that last night as well. And he told me as much. He said you earned it."

Dave said nothing, but he seemed to relax a touch. She stood, motioning for him to join her. "Come. Let's let him rest. We can talk at the table."

He quietly followed her into the main room where his Tesla coil was located, and they both sat quietly at the small, wooden table. It was an awkward silence.

Her eyes fell on the heavy leather coat and shiny black shoes that Balthazar had peeled off while she'd stripped his cot of blankets and the pillow. Her eyes traveled over each individual item, taking it in. Such strange clothing. She'd examined him when he'd fallen asleep last night. Physically, he'd barely changed. But it was still so odd seeing him dressed the way he'd been. Remembering how he'd looked so long ago. She'd never seen anything like the clothes he wore. She wondered what a woman in these days wore...

"So..." Dave started, trying to break the silence. "Veronica... Balthazar talks about you. A lot."

Her eyes shot over to meet his. "He speaks of me?"

"Yeah. Of course." He looked surprised. As though she should have just known that. "I mean, not _all_ the time. He's pretty private, usually. But when he does talk about his life from... before. He always winds up talking about you." At her smile, he added. "And I'm pretty sure he's always thinking about you. Even if he isn't talking."

"He was always very devoted. To everything. If he believes in something, then you can't convince him that it's wrong. Ever."

Dave nodded, relaxing a touch. "I know. I kept trying to convince him that I wasn't the Prime Merlinian. I sucked at almost every spell he showed me. Other than that ring, there was _no_ reason for him to bother training me. But he believed I was it. He made me believe it, too." He laughed a little. "I think that even if I _wasn't_ the Prime Merlinian, he'd have turned me into one out of sheer stubbornness."

She smiled. "That sounds like him."

Another silence, though this one was far less awkward. The boy was easy to talk to. And, it was funny. Even having spoken with him so little, he reminded her of a younger Balthazar in a way, though she had an odd feeling from listening to them that neither master nor apprentice realized how similar they really were.

Her roving eyes fell again on Balthazar's strange clothing. She broke the silence this time, motioning to them. "Is this the common dress for people these days? It's so different..." She shook her head. "And those shoes are... interesting. We had nothing like them in my day."

Dave snorted, drawing her eyes again. "Yeah. Most people under the age of eighty have nothing like them in _my_ day either."

"Ah." She nodded, thoughtfully. "Balthazar dresses differently from you. Just because he is older. Is that what older people where? What I should wear?"

Dave grinned. "No. Definitely not. I'll see if Becky wants to help you with modern girl stuff. I'm useless with trends. And Balthazar... he doesn't care about them. He only wears what he likes. Seems like he mixes and matches stuff. But for the most part, I don't think he's really liked much of the 'new' fashion for the last hundred years or so." He paused, leaning the old, wooden chair back on two legs. "I've noticed that he doesn't really conform to the world. He just sort of expects the world to conform to him."

She nodded. "He never conformed well. Too strong-willed. It was a good thing that Merlin found him." Her eyes were dark and serious. "People like us weren't always treated well by those who didn't understand. And people like _him_ , who didn't follow rules they didn't approve of. Those people didn't live long."

He flinched a little at those words. "I'm glad Merlin found him, too, then," he said softly. "'Cause I don't think anyone else could do what he did for that long. He doesn't like to talk about it. Not often. But from what I hear, it was hell for him. I don't know anyone these days who would do it." He glanced curiously into her eyes. "Maybe it was normal in your time, though? All that chivalry and stuff."

A soft laugh. A gentle smile. "Chivalry is only a word. I don't believe that one era abode by it any more than another. We just gave that word to a moral code that people chose to either follow or not. The code was always there. It was just that in our day we gave it a name."

He sighed. "That's sort of disappointing. I liked thinking that there were people like that. Once."

"There are people like that." She glanced back into the room where her love quietly slept. "He's like that." She turned to eye the boy critically. "You are like that."

He snorted. "No, I'm not. I'm just a college kid who happens to do magic. I only know what I'm doing because of Balthazar. _He's_ the hero, not me. I'm just the guy with the cool ring that he lost."

"You saved his life. That wasn't required of you. And you fought Morgana, though Balthazar tells me you didn't know you even had a chance without your ring. You came back to save him at risk to your own life. You helped save me." Her voice was steady, but there was emotion deep in her eyes. "What exactly do you think chivalry is, David, if not that?"

She'd embarrassed him, though from the look on his face, he appeared pleased. "I'm only his apprentice," he muttered, staring intently at the table. "He's still the hero. If he could have done it, he would have. He didn't want me to come and risk my life. He planned on dying alone to save you and protect me." He'd begun tapping his fingers on the table awkwardly, trying to focus on something other than her intense eyes. "I'm just saying. I know he's not the type to explain that stuff. You should probably know what he did for you. And me. And... well... everyone, I guess. He knew he couldn't win. He expected to die. He was okay with that, I think..." His eyes met hers once more. "...as long as you knew he that he still loved you. He left me the necklace to give to you."

Her eyes widened a touch, glassy with unshed tears. _Balthazar..._ It shouldn't have surprised her. That was how he was. And Dave was right. Balthazar would never have told her what he'd planned on giving up for her.

"He missed you," Dave said quietly. "For a really long time. I'm glad he didn't die. He finally had you back. And..." Another awkward pause. "And... he and I were finally getting along..." He floundered for the right words. "He did a lot for me in only a few days. I didn't want him to die..."

It hadn't come out right, but she somehow understood. They both sat silently, considering the man sleeping in the other room. Considering chivalry and ideals and dreams and love.

Her eyes roved back to the strange shoes on the floor just as she noticed the matching pair on the boy's feet. They looked ridiculous on him. She didn't have to ask where he'd gotten them from.

"I'm glad he has friends, now," she whispered.

"Yeah." He smiled, finally meeting her eyes once more. "Me, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: More Balthy100. As usual, the prompt, "shoes", was only the starting point for my story. (Yes, I realize that this chapter, just like the last, really has nothing to do with the prompt. But in my defense, the last one started with me thinking of "trousers" and this one actually started with me having scribbled down the little snippet of conversation between Veronica and Dave about Balthazar's taste in clothes, and, of course, shoes)...
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy. Thanks for reading. Reviews would be greatly appreciated and very motivating!
> 
> Dewa mata!
> 
> Sirius


	4. Hell

**Part IV:**

**Hell  
**

" _Got no reason, got no shame,  
Got no family I can blame.  
Just don't let me disappear.  
I'mma tell you everything..."_

-" _Secrets," One Republic_

* * *

It was the first time in centuries that Balthazar had felt completely hopeless. Yes, over the years he'd grown disillusioned with his quest. He'd worried he'd somehow not recognize the Prime Merlinian when he saw him. Or be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He'd caught himself wondering what would happen if he missed the child altogether. Would he have to wait for another descendant of Merlin? Was there a Prime Merlinian of each generation as long as they kept having children? Merlin had never really been clear on it. And then he'd died, leaving the dragon ring as his only clue. Leaving Balthazar completely, absolutely alone.

When he'd hit a thousand years old, Balthazar had realized that he'd likely have to wait several more centuries, which was, in his mind, almost as bad as missing the child altogether. It had all begun weighing on him after that, especially the last couple hundred years or so. The uncertainty. The loneliness. He'd finally started feeling very old and very tired. And frankly, very sick of it all. The only things still pushing him were his promise, his love for his world and his care for the people in it.

And, of course, Veronica.

It had been finding Dave ten years ago that had actually made him come alive again. It had given him enough hope and strength to do more than just fade into the shadows as he searched, as he'd begun doing not long after locking Horvath up. Finding Dave had brought back his will to fight.

And now one stupid argument... a moment of frustration and anger... (and, Balthazar had to admit, several moments of keeping unnecessary secrets) had cost him everything.

It was bad enough living with the uncertainty of when and where he'd find the boy. It was worse knowing that he'd succeeded in his centuries-long quest, only to lose him days later.

Balthazar slowly walked to the edge of the room, manually picking things that had been swept down during Dave's little flood, and began putting them away. He had no idea where anything went, so he picked places at random. He just needed something to help focus his mind.

What he really needed was a plan. What was he going to do now? Obviously the first step would be to hunt Dave down and try to reason with him. But what if the boy said no? Balthazar sighed, his shoulders slumping. He heavily dropped a wrench into a toolkit on the desk. If Dave said no, then that would be it, because he'd never steal Dave's right to choose, as much as he may want to. His next move, then, would be to get the Grimhold back. Trap Horvath again. At least save the world from destruction, if nothing else.

But then what? Protect it... forever? Know that Veronica was cursed to remain inside? All because of his failure...

And then he'd live out the rest of eternity alone. He thought back to Dave's question at the bookseller:

" _Don't you have any family...? Friends?"_

" _No and no."_

That had stopped Dave for a moment before he'd replied, " _That's kind of sad."_

Balthazar had smiled at the boy, responding sarcastically, _"Tragic."_ He doubted that Dave had really meant what he'd said, so that had seemed to be an appropriate response. But the truth was... the boy was right. It _was_ sad. Tragic. Dave hated his lonely "figurative urn of ridicule," but, thank god, he'd never know what real loneliness was. That the boy would never have to know what truly made life a living hell.

An eternity with no one. Everyone Balthazar had known and loved were gone from him. Had been for over a thousand years. There were no Merlinians left other than Dave and himself, so anyone he grew attached to could never know what he was. And even _he_ had to admit that keeping a secret like that from someone you cared about wasn't right.

Anyway... did he really want to allow himself to grow attached to a string of people who would just grow old and die as he remained unaging?

He snorted and bent to pick up a couple more tools strewn across the floor, slamming them onto the desk in his frustration. Taking his anger out at inanimate objects instead of himself. _Old fool,_ he snarled in his head. _You know whose fault this really is. And it's not the kid you dragged into this mess. You_ know _better than to allow your emotions to get away with you. That's how a sorcerer gets himself killed..._

He stopped at that thought, wincing. It had been those words that had triggered the fight in the first place. But it was true. Wasteful magic could kill a man. And, powerful emotions like anger, love, despair... even hope... they distracted a sorcerer. Ruined his focus. That was a death wish.

Though really, death wasn't such a bad idea, considering the alternative. It wasn't unlikely that some Morganian would kill Balthazar. That was something he'd have to take into consideration. If he wanted to protect everyone and make some part of his life worthwhile, he'd have to be careful. As soon as Horvath was resealed, he'd have to hide the Grimhold again. Somewhere this time where even the Prime Merlinian wouldn't accidentally break it free. That way the world would remain safe when Balthazar was gone.

He'd die with a thousand regrets, but at very least this way it would be with no shame that he'd failed to help the people he'd sworn to serve and protect. He paused in his cleaning. Only Veronica. He'd always live, and die, with the shame that in a moment of weakness he'd failed her. Again. And when he died he'd take his secrets, and her memory with him. That hurt him worse than anything. No one would remember her when he was gone. No one would remember any of them.

His gaze deadened. When he died, everything he had would die with him, which really was nothing but memories and the skills he'd planned to pass on. When he was gone he'd be forgotten. No family. No friends. No one to mourn his death.

No one who'd even notice. Or care.

Even with his long life—with all he'd done—the second he died, he'd completely disappear. Nothing left but a rotting shell, tossed into an unmarked grave. If he were so lucky.

Somehow during all those years, he'd never thought of that before. He'd been too focused on his goal to worry about himself. And honestly, even with all of his uncertainty, he'd really always believed in the back of his mind that he'd find the Prime Merlinian and get his happily ever after. He'd have someone, somewhere, who'd care when he was gone, even if only a little. So some small part of him might survive.

He'd never wanted fame—to be recorded in history—as Horvath had. He'd just hoped in the back of his mind that he could give Veronica what she wanted. A normal life. They would marry, and he'd have a wife he could love and finally grow old with. Maybe even have a child.

Gone. All gone.

He scowled. _Stop being a sappy idiot,_ he scolded himself. _This isn't like you, and now of all times, you need to hold it together. You failed. Accept it. Try to get him back. And if it doesn't work, then move on._ He took a deep breath. _Anyway, he might even return on his own... once he's cooled off..._ But he didn't really believe that. Not with how many times Dave had nearly been killed since Balthazar had met him. And really... what reason had Balthazar given the boy to return?

He bent to pick up the soaking wet Incantus. Sighing, he began brushing water off of it as he walked to the desk to dry it off.

His thoughts were broken by the creak of a door and a clattering at the top of the steps. Balthazar froze, unable to form a single thought in that instant. It couldn't be... Dave had returned right at that thought? It was too much of a coincidence...

_Coincidence... Nothing's ever coincidence..._

He forced his face into a neutral mask, as though he'd been doing nothing other than mindlessly cleaning while waiting for Dave to come back. He looked up.

"Hey," Dave started. "I'm sorry."

Balthazar glanced up at him, fussing with the book as though he didn't even care about the boy's presence. "Hello," he responded casually.

The youth's expression was odd—almost unfamiliar—but Balthazar was too relieved that the boy had come back to him to care. _I won't mess up this time. I won't go easier on him... but I'll try to understand. To remember what it was like when I was that young. Anything to keep him here._

"I think you and I need to have a talk," the youth said suddenly, walking partway down the stairs and leaning on the rail.

Balthazar looked him in the eye, trying to keep his voice neutral, his face impassive, and his words blasé. "No apology necessary. Let us move on."

Dave grinned, suddenly cocky. And _finally,_ the warning bells went off in Balthazar's head that normally would have alerted him immediately. He glanced down at Dave's black manicured nails a second after the youth replied in a smooth, Australian accent, "You're a diamond, mate." He reacted second too late to defend himself against the young man's concussion blast that threw him back into Dave's equipment. The second he hit, thick metal wires wrapped themselves around his wrists and ankles.

Balthazar immediately twitched his finger, working to quick freeze the coils. Aware that he had a time limit. Fully aware of who was behind this and that it very well could mean his death.

He worked at loosening his bonds because that's what he had to do, and struggled to ignore the voice in his mind that whispered cruelly.

_If you die, you die alone. And all your secrets die with you. Was it worth it?_

He focused his mind on the task of freeing himself, refusing to answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: First of all, for those of you who are confused about the flashback to the bookseller... that's from a deleted scene in the movie. The scene is actually in the novelization as well, but honestly it's way better on the deleted scene from the DVD, so I used the dialogue from there instead.
> 
> Second, thanks to kaytori and lolo popoki for betaing for me!
> 
> Third, thanks to you for reading and (hopefully) reviewing.
> 
> Dewa mata!
> 
> Sirius:)


	5. Mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:Sorcerer's Apprentice in any of its many forms. Sorry. I certainly wish I did own Balthazar, though!

**Mirror, mirror...**

He gazed at his reflection for a long time. The familiar face that he'd seen for centuries. Yet there was something distinctly different about it now. He squinted his storm-blue eyes, really studying his face for the first time in ages. Trying to identify what had changed. Lines deepened around his mouth as his jaw tightened. Creased at the corners of his eyes as he squinted them. Perhaps age was catching up with him?

He sighed, turning away in frustration. No. At this rate, he'd never be _that_ lucky. Honestly, Balthazar would embrace the sands slipping through his hourglass again, because it would mean that _she_ was with him again.

No. Added years weren't the difference, unless he counted the hint of bitterness that had crept onto his countenance in all the time since Horvath's betrayal...

_My best friend..._

His expression grew distant, but before he could allow the memories to drown him once more as they had for centuries, he heard a sudden clatter on the steps behind him, and he turned abruptly, unwilling to allow his young apprentice to see him so out-of-sorts.

"Dave, I—"

"I know, I know," the twenty-something youth began, waving his hand dismissively. "I'm late. I need to study stuff. I need to electrocute myself a few more times with your plasma ball."

"Plasma bolt."

"Yeah. That. Magic zappy stuff. Go team." He weakly fist-pumped, his mind clearly occupied with other things, or more specifically with that girl he was practically stalking.

Balthazar sighed deeply, trying to remind himself that Dave was young and unfamiliar with the grave responsibility that was placed before him and the terrible danger that love put a sorcerer in. That this wasn't all about laser light shows, Tesla bolts, and getting a date. The old man opened his mouth to tell Dave as much, when something about Dave's expression caught Balthazar by surprise, and paused him a moment. Something he hadn't seen this clearly in so long that he'd almost forgotten its existence.

Hope.

The boy's eyes practically gleamed with it. Hope he'd get the girl. That he really was as important as Balthazar had led him to believe. That everything he had gone through in his short life had been worth it.

Hope gleamed in the boy's eyes more powerfully than the magic that glimmered off of the dragon ring's forest green gem.

The master sorcerer glanced back at the mirror one more time and finally recognized what was different about him. The hope that shone so strongly in Dave's eyes was reflected in Balthazar's as well. A hope that this boy had given back to him. They were so different, but in this one way, maybe they were more alike than Balthazar had thought.

The old man's lips twitched, and he allowed a small smile to flicker across his face, worrying the boy he was about to train. Balthazar put one hand on the lanky youth's shoulder. "Come on," he replied quietly. "Throw on your padding. Let's make some magic."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I haven't written much in awhile, and this work is unbeta'd, so I hope it is up to par.
> 
> On that happy note... have a great day!
> 
> Sirius:)

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Part one of my entry for the Balthy 100 challenge. I hope you enjoy. Thanks for reading. Reviews would be amazingly motivating!
> 
> Dewa mata.
> 
> Sirius


End file.
